


What It Takes To Make It

by maricharde



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fisherman Bard, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mermaid Thranduil, Not Beta Read, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maricharde/pseuds/maricharde
Summary: "From his childhood he remembers stories of alliances and friendships, but nowadays everyone speaks only about vicious beasts with sharp teeth and claws, ready to tear you apart if you dare cross their territory."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleLynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/gifts).



> you mentioned you like mermaid aus and my brain came up with this  
> ilysm merry christmas

The overwhelming silence is broken only by the sound of small waves crashing against the sides of a small, beaten up boat. Inside of it Bard is shivering from the cold, staring up at the starry sky, and muttering curses to himself.

“An idiot.” he whispers, stuffing his trembling hands into his pockets. “Great job.”

He is slowly beginning to accept his fate. His sail is torn, he has no idea how to find his way back to the shore, there is nobody waiting for him at home. To say that he made a mistake would be an understatement. A bitter thought goes through his head that at least nobody will cry after him.

The stars above almost seem to mock him - distant and cold, and not helpful at all, even though they should be. But he stubbornly avoided letting anyone teach him how to look at them properly, so they only serve as an annoying reminder of another one of his past mistakes.

Something brushes ominously against the boat, and Bard remembers all the tales told in the village about the creatures living in the sea. From his childhood he remembers stories of alliances and friendships, but nowadays everyone speaks only about vicious beasts with sharp teeth and claws, ready to tear you apart if you dare cross their territory.

He never really believed those stories, brushing them off as fairytales for kids, but now, stranded in the middle of the sea, he’s not so sure. And in his crippling loneliness he almost wishes they were true - it would at least make the certain end of his life a bit more interesting than just freezing to death.

He regrets ever thinking that the second a pale hand shoots out of the water and grabs onto the edge of the boat. Bard breathes in sharply and scrambles backwards in panic, but there is nowhere to escape, so he only watches, his heart beating fast as if it was going to jump out of his chest. Another hand joins the first one, and then a pair of icy blue eyes looks at Bard, and a shiver goes down his spine.

The stranger props himself up on his elbows, the rest of his body remaining in the water. His ears are a strange shape, and long, wet strands of nearly white hair are sticking to his neck and chest. His eyebrows are dark and his cheekbones sharp, and he narrows his eyes, watching Bard in silence. He looks ethereal, truly like something out of a fairytale, Bard thinks, but not a happy fairytale. A dark and dangerous one.

“Were you not told it is dangerous to come here?” he speaks finally, in a voice cold and deep like the sea itself. He is beautiful, in an almost feminine way, and yet there is something predatory about him - a threat hidden underneath the perfect features.

Bard clears his throat and digs his fingernails into his palms until it hurts, and it helps him form a coherent sentence.

"There was a storm.” he says weakly, and the stranger tilts his head to the side.

“Did you not see it coming?” he asks, and Bard shakes his head. “You’re a lousy sailor then.” it’s spoken with no judgement, just stating a fact with perfect indifference.

He disappears suddenly, diving under the water, only to emerge on the other side of the boat and assume his position again, closer to Bard this time. Bard wants to move away, but his limbs refuse to fulfill his orders, so he turns his head awkwardly to look at his companion.

“Why? You are from a fishermen’s town, are you not?” the stranger asks, and Bard wonders if this is some sort of cat versus mouse game that only delays the moment of dragging him under the water and killing him. The creature has sharp nails and waits patiently for his answer. He closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath.

“I never wanted to learn.” he replies. Silence. So he continues. “But I have no choice now. My parents are dead. I need food.”

“How old are you?” comes another question. Bard looks at the stranger, almost tempted to reach out and touch him to see if he’s real. These questions make no sense if he’s going to be killed anyway, but he knows better than to  not answer them.

“Eighteen.” he says.  

“And is there nobody to help you?” the man continues his interrogation, and Bard smiles wryly, despite all the fear.

“The Master would find a way to punish anyone who would try.” he shakes his head. “I’m not worth it.”

“The Master.” the words are spoken with a sudden tone of disgust, like an insult. “Is it still that despicable red-haired individual?”

Bard nods, surprised with the question. For a while of unnerving silence the other seems to consider something, and then he disappears in the water again without a warning.

This time he doesn’t come back right away. So much time passes that Bard almost convinces himself that the encounter was a hallucination created by his exhaustion and the cold, and that he is hopelessly alone after all, and he nearly cries for his sanity. But then there is a sudden splash that startles him, and two wet, sturdy oars fall with a dull sound into the boat.

“Thank you.” is the only thing to say Bard can think of, staring at the unexpected gift. “But I don’t know which way to go.” he adds, looking at the man calmly floating in the water, not bothered by the cold. His skin seems paperwhite in the moonlight

“I can show you under one condition.” he says, reaching up to hold onto the boat again.

Bard remembers the stories. If they were true, he should be prepared to agree to something cruel. Or something innocent that fate would prove to be gruesome, and that would bring terrible consequences. He takes a deep breath.

“What condition?” he asks simply. He has nothing to lose.

“That you will come back.”

***

The look on the Master’s servants’ faces as he passes them coming home with a small net full of fish is priceless, and he laughs internally. He did not catch the fish, and the net does not belong to him, but they do not need to know that, and he waves at them with an innocent smile. They respond with cold glaring, as expected.

The next day he visits the local library. The librarian is old, with a wrinkled face and sharp eyes, and grins at him excitedly when he enters, and talks about how rarely she gets visitors. He wanders between the shelves for a long time, and takes home books about navigation and fishing, and some novels. On a sudden impulse he also slips a small tome about mythical sea creatures into the inner pocket of his coat, making sure the librarian did not notice him taking it.

The next time he sets sail he has a head full of new knowledge and a lot more confidence in his heart. The day is warm and sunny, and it feels like ages before he finds the place he’s looking for. He’s ready to give up when he finally notices the purple buoy his saviour promised to leave for him swaying on the waves. A tangible proof that he’s not insane and imagining people living underwater. He slows the boat down to a drift and waits.

“You kept your word.” The familiar voice startles him at first, and then causes him to smile as he turns around.

“Of course.” It doesn’t feel any less unrealistic to look at the man in the water in the light of day. Bard kneels down and holds his arm out to help him up. His skin is warmer in touch than Bard expected. “You never told me your name.”

“Thranduil.” he replies, and Bard think it’s fitting - weird and charming at the same time. “You never told me yours.”

“It’s Bard.” he lets go of Thranduil’s hand and reaches for his backpack. “I brought you something.”

Something like a smile finds its way to Thranduil’s lips as Bard fumbles with the buckle and finally takes out the small stack of books. He takes a long look at them, and then at Bard again, and Bard realizes that actually reading them might be a problem of a technical nature.

But then one swift move and a big splash later Thranduil is sitting in the boat next to Bard, long tail hanging over the edge, reaching the surface of the sea and disappearing under it. Bard stares, mesmerised - it’s glistening in the sunlight, a smooth transition from skin to blue and purple scales just below the v-shaped muscles. The world feels completely upside-down.

It takes Bard a moment to notice Thranduil holding his arm out expectantly, and he hands him the books, with a horrible feeling that he must be slightly blushing.

“Is it okay for you to be out of the water?” he asks hesitantly, just to focus on something else. Thranduil nods absent-mindedly, flipping through the first book.

“For some periods of time, yes.” he replies. “This one is for children.” he adds, handing the book back to Bard, already looking at the cover of the next one.

“Right. Yes, sorry, I…” Bard’s voice trails off as he tries to find the right way to finish the sentence, so Thranduil does it for him.

“You doubted if I can read, so you brought a book with a lot of pictures.” he looks at him now with a raised eyebrow. “Bard, you must be aware there were times when your people called us friends. We had plenty of access to your books back then.”

“Right. Sorry.” Bard repeats, stuffing the book back into his backpack, his cheeks burning red now.

“Don’t be. I read these two.” Thranduil puts both books aside, only one left in his hands. “But not this one.” he opens it, and looks at Bard again, who feels like he managed to accomplish something. “You might want to start fishing.” he suggests.

Bard is not sure if it’s because of Thranduil’s presence, or if it’s just a really good place, but he catches fish after fish, and he thinks some of them are actually rather rare. They spend a few hours like this, side by side in the sunlight, talking every now and then. It’s awkward at first, but the feeling dissolves quickly, letting them enjoy the comfortable silences if they feel like it.

“I still kind of can’t believe you’re real.” Bard says, and Thranduil raises his eyes from the book.

“Still?” he repeats, distracted.

“I mean… I thought you were just stories, you know. Something to scare kids when they don’t behave.” Bard explains with a shrug.

“I suppose we keep our distance from your kind.” Thranduil straightens his back and turns a page. “Which should come as no surprise since you see us as monsters.” he adds, and Bard suddenly feels guilty and rude.

A while later it’s Thranduil who speaks first.

“How are your navigation skills doing?” he asks casually. Bard grins.

“Better.” he boasts. “I have books and everything.”

“Let me know if you need help.” Thranduil smiles back. Bard thinks that the smile suits him. His hair is dry now and blowing gently in the wind, reflecting the golden flickers of sunlight.

“I should probably get back.” Bard notices finally, although he’s reluctant to admit it. Thranduil closes the book and stretches.

“Are you going to come again?” he asks.

“Of course.” their fingers brush as Bard takes the book from him. “I just don’t know when.”

“Until next time, then.”

Bard already can’t wait for the next time.

***

“I know what you’re doing.” the librarian announces half a year later, and Bard freezes in the doorframe.

He turns around trying to look as innocent as possible and opens his mouth to claim he has no idea what she means, but she’s having none of it. “Yeah, your dad looked the same when he tried to lie.” she puts her hands on her hips, and raises one eyebrow. “You’ve been seeing them, haven’t you? Those folks in the sea.” she adds in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

Bard gives up, and lets his arms drop to his sides.

“I was so careful.” he sighs, terrified. Thoughts race through his head as he’s wondering who else noticed.

“Not careful enough for me.” she smiles proudly. “I’m old. I know how to look. And you keep stealing books from me, the kind of books they like.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Bard begs, and she waves her hand dismissively.

“Oh please. Of course not. But you have to tell me everything.” she replies, excited and grinning.

Bard leaves a while later full of mixed feelings. One one hand, he feels like he made a friend, found an ally. On the other, she might not be the only person that knows, and the thought makes his blood run cold.

The librarian told him when she was a little girl her grandfather would take her out in his boat to trade gifts and stories with the beautiful people living in the sea.

“But things are different now.” she mutters bitterly. “We all know who to blame for that. The Master was always scared of them, you know? So he made us all believe they’re monsters.”

It might be just paranoia setting in but he feels as if someone is watching him as he’s walking towards the harbour, so he changes the route and comes home instead, fighting the urge to run through the dark, cobbled streets. He passes the Master’s house on the way, and the man guarding the door looks at him suspiciously; a pair of narrowed eyes under a dirty hood. Bard greets him politely with an innocent smile, but his heart is racing in his chest, and he makes a promise to himself to start being more careful.

***

“You’re in a good mood.” Thranduil notices one chilly autumn morning.

“It’s my birthday.” Bard reminds him, a bit disappointed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Looking at Thranduil, soaking wet and bare-chested, only makes him feel more cold. “Like every year for the past four years. I thought you’d remember by now.”

Thranduil lifts his hand, revealing a small box made of carved stone. “I did.”

The box turns out to contain a necklace - a perfect pearl on a delicate silver chain. Bard touches it carefully with one finger.

“I can’t…” he begins, looking up, but Thranduil raises his hand in a haughty gesture.

“Just accept it as a token of friendship.” he insists. “Here.” he adds, when Bard still hesitates. He takes the necklace, and leaning towards Bard puts it on his neck. He fiddles with the clasp for a moment, his arms around Bard, and the latter holds his breath, his heartbeat quickened from the sudden closeness.

Thranduil pulls back, and then touches the pearl now resting in the crease of Bard’s coat. For a moment he glances up and his eyes meet Bard’s, and there is a look in them Bard has never seen before - something soft. Tender, even. Vulnerable.

“You should probably wear it hidden.” Thranduil says, moving away. The impression passes completely. “Or your Master could rob you.”

“Not my master.” Bard mutters automatically. He lifts the pearl up to his eyes, and then lets it slide down his shirt. It’s uncomfortably cold for a short moment before it warms up against his skin. “Thank you."

They settle comfortably into their usual routine - fishing, reading, talking, with Bard doing most of the latter. Thranduil prefers to listen, offering snide comments in all the perfect moments, and his company is enough for every problem to seem insignificant, or easy to solve. Bard finds peace in their meetings, serenity and support in the sarcastic jokes and calm advice. He wonders sometimes why was he never able to find a friendship like that in his own realm - why did fate force him to find it in the middle of the sea.

“Oh, I meant to tell you.” he remembers just as they’re about to say goodbye. “I met someone.”

“Someone?” Thranduil repeats. He’s already back in the cold water, looking up at Bard expectantly.

“A girl. She’s wonderful.” Bard smiles fondly. “I hope things work out.”

Thranduil stares at him in silence. Some dark look flashes through his face, and then disappears immediately, and just for a moment Bard feels as if he just said something wrong, though he does not understand what. Thranduil blinks twice, and then...

“I will keep my fingers crossed.” he says with a usual calm smile. He raises his hand in a gesture of goodbye and dives underwater.

***

It does work out. The librarian’s granddaughter is smart and fearless, and her laughter echoes in Bard’s head even when she’s not around. He starts doing things like buying flowers and shaving daily, and she teaches him how to dance, in the dim taverns, surrounded by loud, lively music. A year passes, and Bard buys a ring. He gathers his courage for a few more months, and then one they she finally says yes, standing on a pier with her long hair blowing in the wind.

“Does she not mind you coming here?” Thranduil asks one bright night. Bard shakes his head.

“Of course not. Why would she?” he replies lightly, eyes stuck to the stars. He feels like laughing almost all the time nowadays.

Thranduil ignores the question.

“And does she not wish to come with you?” he continues.

“She says it’s enough one of us has a death wish.” Bard smiles, and they change the topic.

He has been doing well lately. He learned through the years that Thranduil’s friendship is like a blessing in terms of life in the sea. Fish flock to him like he’s made of bait, many of them rare, and even in the most difficult times he never comes home empty-handed. But the prosperity also means drawing attention to himself, and the Master’s servants watch him more closely nowadays. Meetings with Thranduil happen less frequently now, and almost always at night, whenever the sky is clear enough to sail.

But the people begin to respect him more than they fear the Master. He buys a bigger boat, and soon he’s not fishing alone anymore, but with a crew, bringing home nets full of fish. His mates call him lucky, call him gifted, accuse him of having some kind of sixth sense.

Life becomes hectic. His fiancée is planning the wedding, and they buy a new house, which needs renovating before they can move in, and time slips through Bard’s fingers. And one day he realizes it’s been full three months since he has seen Thranduil face to face. The pearl hangs heavily from his chest, reminding him of a friendship he’s neglecting.

A disaster comes before he can fix his mistake.

It’s a wonderfully sunny afternoon when his friends pull him out of his absent-minded staring at the horizon with excited shouting, and his heart skips a beat when he turns around and sees the cause of the commotion.

They just pulled out a net from the water. And in it, surrounded by fish, lies Thranduil, not even struggling, frozen in place with his fists clenched, breathing heavily. Only his eyes are darting from one man to another, until finally they focus on Bard with bitter disbelief. Bard covers his mouth with his hand. Thoughts race through his head as he’s desperately trying to find a way out of this.

“I wonder what the Master will say about that.” he hears one of the men say, and it finally makes him tear his eyes away from Thranduil. His heart is pounding against his ribs. He has an idea, but he already hates himself for what he is about to say.

“The Master?” he scoffs loudly, and everyone’s attention turns to him. He continues, as decisively as he’s able to. “The Master hates those things, and I bet he has a reason.” he approaches closer, avoiding looking at Thranduil. He raises his voice. “And you want to bring… that” - he points at the net, letting the last word fall from his mouth with disgust - to his doorstep?”

The others throw glances at eachother, and he can see the uncertainty in their eyes. He clenches his fists nervously, silently praying for this to work.

“Throw it back in the water and not a word to anyone.” he commands. “Some things are better left alone. That monster is one of them.”

The other men nod, and turn towards the net to fulfill the order. Bard looks at Thranduil one last time before turning away, and the look on his face freezes the blood in his veins. It’s nothing but cold reproach and fury, and he regrets everything.

As soon as it gets dark, Bard kisses his fiancée goodnight and runs out of the house, stumbling over his own feet. He makes sure nobody is following him, and then prepares his old boat, dropping ropes in his haste and cursing out loud, and sets sail to the usual meeting point.

He shouts out apologies to the waves until his voice gets hoarse, fighting tears and begging for forgiveness. But he is met only with cruel silence, and it’s almost physically painful. Then he sits in his boat, determined to wait as long as it takes, occasionally calling out again.

He almost falls off the boat when a human shape appears on the surface. But he quickly realizes it’s not Thranduil. This man seems younger, and his eyes are a warmer shade of blue. And there is a tiara on his head, a delicate construction of pearls and coral and shells. He watches Bard warily for a long while, and Bard waits for him to speak first.

“He’s not coming.” the stranger says finally. “Go home.”

A bitter pain of defeat settles in Bard’s chest, and he drops his arms to his sides. He feels like he’s sinking, unable to stop a part of his life from crumbling to pieces. There is a lump in his throat that won’t go away.

“Why?” he manages to ask weakly, and the other frowns. His voice is cold when he answers.

“He made a fool out of himself looking for you. I wouldn’t come either.” he turns away, and Bard shouts out to stop him from leaving.

“Wait!” the stranger looks at him with an impatient look on his face. “Can’t you at least tell him I’m sorry?”

The reply is a slow nod, and then Bard is alone again. With a heavy heart he begins the journey home.

***

For over six months Bard continues sneaking out at night, waiting in the boat alone with only the sea and the sky as company, coming back to bed with wet hair and cold hands. He tries every few days at first, and then once every two weeks, and eventually once a month, until his hope dwindles down to nearly nothing, and the pearl he still wears serves as a bitter reminder of what was so easily lost.

But Thranduil’s presence still lingers - rare fish still slip into Bard’s nets, the buoy marking their meeting place has not disappeared, and when strong wind rips his scarf from his neck one day and throws it into the water, it mysteriously finds its way back onto his boat. So Bard keeps trying, determined to eventually break through Thranduil’s obstinacy.

And finally one summer dawn his persistence is rewarded.

“I have some big news.” he informs the calm blue waves. He has no idea if he’s actually being heard by anyone, but he feels better pretending that he is. “If we were ever truly friends you’d be happy to hear them. But I won’t tell you unless you come up here.”

He waits for a moment, and then sighs heavily when there is no reply.

“What news?”

The familiar voice makes Bard’s heart sing. He turns around, grinning, to see Thranduil propped up on his elbows on the edge of the boat as if nothing ever changed. His expression is stoically calm, but his eyes betray him. Bard knows how to look for the flickers of laughter in them, proving the glee hiding underneath the false indifference.

“You.” Bard breathes, and then leaps forward to wrap Thranduil in his arms. But the motion is too sudden and he finds himself falling, pushing Thranduil off the edge, and dragging them both into the water.

A cool wave closes over his head, but a strong arm immediately pulls him back to the surface. He wipes the water from his eyes with one hand, holding onto Thranduil’s shoulder with the other. Their faces are inches away from eachother, and they are both smiling now.

“Half a year!” Bard shouts, torn between apologizing and letting his anger out.  “I’m so sorry! But half a year?”

“Well, I am here now.” Thranduil replies smoothly. He pulls them both up into the boat as if Bard weighs nothing, and they sit side by side just like they always did. The sun is climbing the horizon, a warm breeze is blowing pleasantly, and Bard feels as if the world has just been put back on the correct track.

“I met another one of your kind, you know.” Bard mentions.

“I know. You met my son.” Thranduil replies lightly. Bard freezes and gapes at him in silence. It takes him a moment to process the sentence.

“You never told me you have a son.” he says finally, and Thranduil shrugs.

“You never asked.” is his calm answer, and Bard shakes his head in disbelief.

“Right. Of course.” And then he remembers one more detail. “He was wearing something on his head, like… a diadem?” Thranduil nods slowly. “Why?”

“I suppose because he is a prince.” Thranduil says, again as if it was the least important thing in the world. Bard can feel his head spin from the sudden realization. 

“That means that you are a king.” he says, with great difficulty. Thranduil looks at him, and nods again.

Bard throws his hands up in the air and raises his voice.

“We’ve known eachother for years and you never told me?” Thranduil doesn’t reply. Bard punches him mildly on the arm. “A goddamn king? Should I watch my manners around you? Why don’t you wear a crown?”

“At first I did not want to intimidate you more than you already were.” Thranduil’s voice is soft, and Bard thinks back to the night they first met. “I only wanted us to treat eachother as equals.”

Bard crosses his arms.

“But you lied to me.” he points out. 

“No, I only did not tell you everything.” Thranduil replies, mirroring Bard’s position, a smile creeping onto his face again.

“Yeah. That’s called lying, genius.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

They stare at eachother in silence, enjoying being able to do that again. Whatever seemed lost is back, and they both find their places like fingers in a glove. The boat rocks gently on the waves, and the sunlight makes Thranduil’s hair look golden. It’s a calm, blissful moments after months of tarrying; A weight has been lifted.

“You mentioned some good news.” Thranduil reminds Bard, breaking the silence.

“Oh, yes.” Bard stretches, lifting his arms above his head. “See, now that I know you have a son, I think I should ask you for some tips.” Thranduil gives him a puzzled look, so he continues. “You know. About being a father.”

***

There is a girl, and then a boy, and suddenly Bard’s world becomes far more scary and beautiful than it ever was. The sleepless nights are a small price to pay. Every second is filled with vibrant anticipation, and he wishes he could slow down time.

They grow way too fast; he’s at sea when Sigrid takes her first steps, but when Bain does he's there with him. Her first word is “da”, his is “fish”. During the day they play in the kitchen while their mother cooks and cleans, or go for long walks on the beach with her, collecting seashells and interesting stones. In the evening Bard and his wife tell them stories and make shadow puppets on the walls of their home.

Bard takes them onto the boat as soon as they are big enough and their mother allows it. They stay near the shore at first, but he dares to sail further and further out each time. And one day they come back home with seashells and flowers Thranduil braided into their hair, and their mother smiles when she sees them. But she still does not want to join them, and Bard stops asking.

Sigrid and Bain seem to absolutely love those trips, as rare as they are; they sit in Thranduil’s lap, and he lets them play with his hair, and tells them stories about talking fish and princes living underwater. And sometimes they fall asleep, lulled by the rocking of the boat and sound of the crashing waves, and he sings them lullabies. Bard listens, mesmerised, and says nothing.

Eventually he stops taking them along. The Master’s minions have been doubling their efforts lately. There is someone following him more often than not, and he often has to turn back home instead of meeting Thranduil. He is afraid Sigrid and Bain could be too easily convinced to give up this secret.

They slowly forget as kids do as they grow older, until Thranduil becomes just a dream to them, a childhood fantasy or a bedtime story. But Thranduil does not forget, always asking about them, always ready with a gift for their birthday. Coral bracelets, golden rings with blue and green stones, pearls - Bard saves most of them for future birthdays or difficult days, hidden in a chest under the floor.

He is afraid of the danger the Master could bring onto them all for the friendship with the seafolk, but there are other threats he does not see coming. Even the Master does not hold power over sickness.

It starts slowly, and they don’t notice it at first. She just feels a bit more tired than the previous times, and the morning sickness is a bit worse. And then it’s like an avalanche, and she’s bedridden in matter of weeks, frail and exhausted by simple actions.

“This pregnancy will kill her.” the doctors say, and shake their heads with sad, sympathetic looks that Bard wishes he could punch off their faces. He argues and pleads, but they all just spread their hands and leave, taking their useless medicine and tools with them.

“Can’t you do something?” he begs Thranduil on the brink of tears. But even the weird weed Thranduil brings does not help. She sleeps better for a night or two, and then it's just more of the same torment.

“We will all miss her.” Alfrid says condescendingly with a compassionate grimace one October morning. The funeral is ending, and Bard has never been so close to actually choking Alfrid with his bare hands.

The house suddenly feels empty and cold, despite the number of its inhabitants not changing. Bard stays up late at night, not able to fall asleep in a bed that now feels too large. There is a gaping hole in the fabric of reality, and no amount condolences and hugs seems to be able to fill it.

But there is a new life with them too, and tiny Tilda, a ray of sunshine, seems nearly out of place in a house filled with mourning. They smile for her sake and soldier on, and every morning feels like a new battle, which at least they fight together - Bard is not sure sometimes if it's still a battle for happiness, or just for sanity and peace.

“It gets better.” Thranduil says as they sit side by side one cold morning, staring into the horizon, so close that their shoulder are touching.

“Everybody says that.” Bard mutters, wrapping a scratchy blanket tighter around himself.

“Yes, but I know for sure.” Thranduil replies quietly. They look at eachother, and on Thranduil’s face Bard finds a distant reflection of the bitter pain he’s feeling now, and there is no need to say anything more.

Bard sighs and leans into Thranduil, resting his head on his shoulder, and Thranduil hugs him carefully with one arm. It will be time to come back home soon. But for the moment Thranduil’s presence is soothing, and Bard finds his strength in the comfortable silence and quiet, steady support.

***

It takes a long time, but eventually it does get better. Not great, but better, and it has to be enough. They find a way to rebuild their life, on a frame of silent gestures, careful steps, loving words. Sigrid grows to be a backbone of the household - a role Bard never wanted for her, but one she plays gracefully and with a smile, strong and beautiful like her mother. Bain knows as much about the sea as his father, and Bard has no doubt he will soon know more. And Tilda is the most lovely, smart little girl he has ever seen. She sneaks out to the beach all the time, and spends her time making up stories about faeries, wizards and mermaids.

At least one of them usually waits for Bard when he comes back from the sea. So when one day none of them does, he knows immediately something must have happened, and he has a feeling it was nothing good.

When he sees the door to the house standing wide open he begins to run. And crossing the doorstep he runs straight into Alfrid, who pushes him away with badly concealed disgust.

“Your daughter has been telling other kids some… interesting stories.” he begins. Bard looks over his shoulder to see Sigrid hugging her siblings with terrified look in her eyes. “About mermaids and whatnot. We have been wondering where she got them from.”

Two scruffy looking men are tearing the house apart, opening every drawer, lifting up mattresses, throwing the contents of various boxes and containers onto the floor.

“Maybe she found a book somewhere, Alfrid.” Bard grits his teeth. “Reading, have you heard of it?”

Alfrid bares his teeth in what Bard assumes is supposed to be a smile.

“Or maybe she didn’t. We are sick of your games, Bard.” he walks up so closely Bard can smell his breath, and it’s not a pleasant smell. “It’s time to prove who’s side you’re on. Check under the floor.” he adds, turning around towards the other men, and Bard thinks for a moment about how surreal this situation feels.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffs, focusing on keeping a straight face. “Whose side could I be on, Alfrid?”

“Got something.” one of the men mutters before Alfrid has a chance to answer. Bard’s heart drops as they pull out a small chest he knows all too well. The chest full of coral, gold, seashells and pearls. There’s not much of it - through the years Bard sold most of Thranduil’s gifts, trying to make ends meet. But it’s enough.

“Well now.” Alfrid leans down to pick up a golden bracelet and dangles it in the air before Bard’s eyes. Sigrid breathes in sharply, staring at the collection with wide eyes, a hand covering her mouth. “Where did a poor fisherman like you get things like that?”

Bard digs his fingernails into his palms as thoughts race through his head. Words fail him, and he's unable to find an answer. Alfrid throws the bracelet back on the ground like it’s trash, and continues, crossing his arms.

“Because I only see two options. You either stole them from our Master…” he tilts his head to the side. “... or you have some friends that you shouldn’t have.”

Bard feels as if the floor is swaying under his feet. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak a word, someone outside begins screaming in a panicked voice.

“Attack! We’re being attacked!”

For just a second everyone hesitates, and then run outside, stumbling over themselves and eachother. The small treasure stays abandoned on the floor.

There are ships on the horizon, and the closer they get the more obvious their intentions are. Bearded men are holding up weapons and shouting, their faces painted, long hair blowing in the wind.

Nobody in town had a reason to take part in a battle for years. The swords in the arsenal are old and blunt, and the hands of the fishermen are not used to wielding them; they gather on the shore with boat hooks and knives, and Bard stands amongst them praying for a miracle. Alfrid has unsurprisingly disappeared. The air feels heavy with despair.

The attackers are chanting something clearly threatening, all of them wild-eyed and strong, when suddenly a spear shoots out of the water. One of the men falls silently into the cold sea. The others stare at him, stunned, and then a high pitched scream of fear is heard as more spears join the first one.

And then human shapes with long tails begin crawling up the sides of the ships, and the attackers scramble to turn their ships around in panic just as wild as their demeanor. One by one the are dragged into the water and under the surface.

Bard finally notices a familiar face. Thranduil is wearing a crown for once, and commanding the small army that follows every move of his hand. Bard raises his fist and shouts out in victory, and the other men gathered around him follow his example.

Nobody really bothers chasing the ships once they are on their way away from the town, but not everyone is lucky enough to escape.  Bard runs down to the docks, where Thranduil is waiting with three others, each of them holding a knife to the throat of one of the hostages. They don’t even struggle anymore, limp and terrified.

“Bard.” Thranduil speaks, and the men who followed Bard here open their mouth in shock, and then stare at him with newfound respect. “What do you want to do with them?”

Bard crouches down to get a better look at the survivors. Their vicious bravado from moments ago is replaced with fear. A suspicion forms in his head and he clears his throat.

“Do you speak our language?” he asks. After a moment of silence and hesitation the men nod slowly. “Then who sent you?” Bard asks simply.

One of the men smiles, showing rotten teeth, and spits into the water.

“Your Master promised us no fighting and easy loot.” he replies in a gravelly voice. “We only had to share with him.”

Bard stands up and turns around. Behind him he finds men waiting for a command.

“Take them and tie them up.” Bard says, pointing towards the hostages. “And let’s find the Master.”

He stays behind as the others drag the attackers towards the town hall. There is only him and Thranduil left now, and he reaches out to take his hand.

“You saved us.” he says in disbelief. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Go take care of your own now.” Thranduil replies calmly. “Come meet me later.”

***

The Master is eventually found trying to escape out of the town with a bag of gold and Alfrid by his side. He begs the men to spare him once he is caught, and claims to have no idea who the attackers were, but nobody really listens. But he is allowed to leave - except not in a way he’d like to.

He is given a boat and pushed out onto the water. He shouts out threats mixed with begging for a long while, and even sheds some tears, but he is met only with cold silence. In the end he has no choice but to start rowing, and the shore empties once he’s out of sight. It feels as if the whole town can finally breathe out with relief.

“They want to make me the Master now.” Bard tells Thranduil when they meet later. “And they want to talk about an official alliance with you.”

“I see no reason not to agree to an alliance if the Master is you.” Thranduil smiles. “But perhaps we should start with a meeting more grand than just the two of us.”

“But not today.” Bard proposes.

“No, not today.” Thranduil agrees, and leans into Bard, who puts his arm around his shoulders. “Enough happened today.”

***

The fifth anniversary of the battle is one of the greatest celebrations the town has ever seen.

Large wooden platforms sway lazily on the water, decorated with flowers and seashells. There are floating lanterns, and food and wine on the tables. Some people stay on the ground to dance and play music, but most come onto the water, to drink and celebrate with their fish-tailed friends.

Bard and Thranduil sit side by side on one of the platforms, distant from everyone. They are both demanded to give a speech, so they gracefully comply, and then come back to watching the rest, undisturbed. And when the moment is right, they sneak out to Bard’s old boat, and leave the celebrants to their own devices.

They drift slowly along the coastline, sharing a bottle they took from the party. Bard’s arms are wrapped around Thranduil’s waist, and they stare at the sky listening to the distant shouting and singing.

“I was thinking.” Bard says after a while.

“Dangerous.” Thranduil mutters with his eyes closed, and Bard shushes him.

“I was thinking I need to thank you.” he continues, sitting up straight. Thranduil turns around to look at him, blinking a few times, not quite on the same page as Bard.

“Thank me for what?” he asks slowly.

“For everything. I mean…” Bard stops, cursing at himself in his head, realizing this is not the perfect way to breach the subject.

There were days when he would see Thranduil once a month. Nowadays it’s at least once a day, and he anticipates every meeting, counting down the hours until they can see eachother again. And he finally recognized the feeling, and realized things can not continue in this fashion.

Sigrid got married a year ago, and on the night of her wedding she said something that he didn’t understand at first.

“I’m just afraid we will all move out eventually and you will stay alone.” she nearly whispered.

“But I’m not alone.” he replied immediately.

“Well then maybe you should do something about it.” was her answer. He’s pretty sure he now understands what she meant.

He’s tired of tiptoeing and pretending, of acting like every touch and embrace means nothing. It begins to feel like building a lie between them.

“Bard?” Thranduil’s voice pulls him out of his musing.

“You’ve been here for me for years.” he begins again. “Always here when I needed you. And I just can’t… I’d like to know if...” He stares at his own hands and takes a deep breath, because he finds himself unable to use words properly. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

Thranduil cups his cheek softly, and for a moment the world slows down. Bard closes his eyes and they both lean forward in the same moment, and Thranduil’s lips feel cold against Bard’s in a delicate, hesitant kiss. Bard’s fingers intertwine with Thranduil hair as he kisses back, tasting the wine on his tongue. And then it’s suddenly over, and Bard opens his eyes surprised to find the rest of the world still existing around them.

“Is this what you were trying to say?” Thranduil’s voice is almost a whisper.

“This is exactly what I was trying to say.”

***

It doesn’t really change anything between them in terms of feelings, except maybe adding a new layer to what was already there - the love and support is expressed with kisses now instead of just words, careful  touches, quickened heartbeats, sweet whispers. The foundation they laid down over the years is strong, and Bard finds himself falling asleep with a smile on his face every night. 

They exchange rings eventually, without any ceremony, just the two of them in the moonlight. Those who know how to look notice and offer their congratulations. The rest doesn’t matter. There is finally peace in Bard’s life like never before - no Master breathing down his neck, no rush, no uncertainty, no lying awake at night worrying about surviving the next day.

“How long have you known?” he asks as they sit on a deck one summer evening. The sun is setting, and Thranduil is lying on his back with his eyes closed and his head in Bard’s lap. He's swaying his tail lazily through the water - the only proof that he is not asleep. 

“About what?” he asks, not opening his eyes. 

“That you… you know.” Bard runs his fingers through Thranduil’s hair, and the latter looks at him now.  Warm sunlight is casting the shadow of his eyelashes onto his cheeks.

“How long have I known that I love you?” he asks, smiling.

“Yes.” Bard smiles back. “I love you too.” he adds immediately, knowing he will never get tired of saying it.

Thranduil lifts his hand and with one finger touches the pearl hanging from Bard’s neck.

“Since I gave you this.” he replies lightly. Bard lets his mouth drop open.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he manages to get the words out after a while of stunned silence. Thranduil reaches for his hand and links their fingers together.

“You loved someone else. And I did not want to lose you.” his eyes flicker back up to Bard’s face. “And then I did not mind waiting for you to be ready.”

“What if I was never ready?” Bard asks, and Thranduil crosses his eyebrows, taking just a moment to form the answer.

“It would be a privilege to be a part of your life anyway.” his voice is confident and calm.

Bard leans down to press a soft kiss to his forehead as first stars begin to appear on the darkening sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Babe, I hope you liked it. I'm so sorry for making you wait again. I'm literally posting this from my phone because I can't get to my laptop ahhhh  
> This was supposed to be a short story ending with a kiss, you know. It got out of my control


End file.
